


Grief

by jeanvaljeanralphio



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanvaljeanralphio/pseuds/jeanvaljeanralphio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia mourns for Misty on the anniversary of her death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief

The hum of insects and smell of wet plants fill Cordelia until she has to open her eyes. Misty's little hut is right in front of her. It's half in shambles. The roof needs patching, the windows are all broken, the mud plastered on the walls is cracked. Of course it's falling apart. It hasn't been lived in for over a year now.

Most of Misty's possessions are back at the house. They're hidden around Cordelia's room. Under the bed, on the nightstand, buried in the back of the closet, wherever, really. Zoe and Queenie have both told her, on several occasions, to throw everything out.

"It's been a year," Zoe even said to her last night. "You should move on. You owe it to yourself."

To which she, a little bitterly, replied, "Just like you should have moved on when Kyle and Madison died?"

"That was different," Zoe asserted. "They were freshly dead. Well, kinda. They had bodies. They were able to be brought back."

"By Misty," Cordelia reminded her.

She knows that Madison technically brought Kyle back, but she looked so pointedly at Zoe that the discussion ended there.

Deep down, Cordelia knows they're right. Queenie is never so outward, but the concern is still there. That's what it really is. They don't mean to be rude or uncaring. They're concerned. If she's being really honest with herself, she understands why.

She can't bring herself to move on, though. Every morning, she wakes up and looks to the small table next to her bed. A few of Misty's rings sit there, resting on top of her favorite shawl, which is draped over the table. Just for a moment, every morning, Cordelia can imagine that she's still there. Maybe she just went to the bathroom or she's downstairs making breakfast. Sometimes she walks into the greenhouse, and there's a quick whiff of a certain flower mixed with damp soil that reminds her so much of Misty it stops her breath.

In those quick moments, Cordelia forgets that Misty is dead. She can see her repotting flowers, or sleeping next to her, snoring a little, with her blonde hair fanning around her head. If she just reaches out, she can touch her. If she leans over, just a bit, she can breathe her in first thing in the morning. Like a cup of coffee, or fresh spring air coming through her open window.

Then those moments end, reality comes crashing back to her, and she has to hide her tears and face the day like a big girl. Actually, that's the easy part. Growing up with Fiona as a mother was like an entire lifetime of training for the Olympics of emotional repression.

Cordelia takes a deep breath and lets it out. The sun is directly above her, casting light through the trees that surround her and leaving speckled shadows on the ground. Somewhere behind the earthy, familiar smell of mud, there's a vaguely sweet scent of something rotting.

She takes a tentative step forward, then another, then another, until she's right in front of the door to Misty's little house. With another deep breath, she presses her fingertips against the bloated wood and pushes. It opens slowly with a long creak. Right away, she's blasted with the musty air from inside. It smells like Misty, and dust, and decay. She can't help but shudder as she steps over the threshold.

The main room, which is really the only room, is small, but not cramped. It's cluttered, but not messy. It's exactly the kind of place Misty should've lived in. It's earthy and comfortable. There's a slight breeze from the broken windows. It feels like home.

Near the wall directly to her left, there's a record player on a low table. A few shattered vinyls litter the floor around it. Cordelia walks over and picks up one of the shards.

She's stuck. She's been stuck for the past year. The coven is expanding, her powers have only been growing, but she still can't pull herself from the hole that she dug herself after Misty died. She drops the piece of record and touches the wall. The wallpaper is all but gone. She's like this house. Fully functional, but run down, waiting for someone who will never return.

Something creaks behind her, and a familiar energy fills the room like sunlight. Cordelia whirls around, but the room is still empty. Her stomach sinks, and tears prick at her eyes. Of course, she couldn't really expect that Misty would be back. Not at this point.

Although, if anyone could pull it off, it would be her.

She takes another deep breath to clear the lump out of her throat. It's surprisingly easy. Something about this house eases the tension in her shoulders like nothing else, not even a myriad of new potions, has been able to. It's because of Misty. Though she may be gone, her aura still exists here. It's in every little crack in the floor, in the unmade bed, the ragged curtains over broken windows. Misty is still here. Cordelia closes her eyes and imagines the other woman sneaking up behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist, and resting her head on her shoulder.

Instantly, as if she had cast a spell, warmth seeps over her back and around her stomach. She smiles. The lump reappears in her throat. The room is so full of Misty that no imagination is required. She may as well be here. Cordelia doesn't move for a long time, soaking in all the mysterious warmth, breathing in every little bit of the house that she can. She could easily stay here all day.

There are the girls, though. She hasn't been gone long, but she's still been gone, which means Queenie and Zoe are in charge of all those young witches. They're still so young themselves. As much as they've grown this past year, they both still doubt themselves. They need Cordelia, just like she needs them.

She opens her eyes and the heat around her dissipates.

On her way out the door, she grabs a scarf off the bed and a shard from one of the records. Outside, the sun is a little lower in the sky. The air is thicker now; it sticks to Cordelia's skin and wrinkles her clothes. The hum of insects pounds in her ears. It's definitely louder than before. She can't hear anything else.

When she's across the clearing, she turns back to look at the house. She bites the inside of her lip.

"I miss you," she whispers to the air. The words hang in front of her, like they're making fun of her for saying them out loud. But she doesn't want to leave without saying anything. She had to do something to break the buzzing all around her.

A few nearby trees sway in her direction. Cordelia turns back around to walk to her car. It would be easy, she thinks, for her to stay here. She could live off the land, somehow, and live in the little house that Misty used to live in.

That would be the choice Fiona would've made, though. She's the Supreme now. Her world is bigger than what she wants. Each step that pulls her away from Misty's house breaks her heart a little more.

But it's time for her to go home.


End file.
